Fallen Angel
by HepCatRaven
Summary: Spot song fic to EYC's "Fallen Angel." A little bit of opinionated insight into the icy Brooklyn leader.
1. Chapter One

Fallen Angel  
  
The girl blinked, unbelieving. "You're breaking up with me?"  
  
Dammit, he had hoped this one wouldn't cry. They always cried. He released a sharp breath through his teeth and looked out over the railing. He didn't speak; words weren't needed.  
  
She sighed shudderingly and turned away. "I guess I'll say good-bye now."  
  
Still he remained silent.  
  
She stifled a sob and pulled her coat tighter around her body.  
  
He stayed at rest; calm and collected as he flicked the remains of his cigarette into the inky blackness below.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Spot looked up into the bright sun, enjoying the warmth that roamed over his aching muscles. A high-pitched voice came from behind him.  
  
"Spot!"  
  
Spot turned slowly, easily maintaining his regal air as he looked down upon his visitor. A small child stood, hunched over, catching his breath, in front of him. The child looked up suddenly and hurriedly gulped one last breath before announcing his news.  
  
"Cowboy wanted me ta ast if youse was still comin' to da party tanite." He gasped, bouncing from foot to foot.  
  
Spot sneered and shook his head. /It's /my /damn boithday, 'a 'coise I'se still comin'./ He dragged his gaze to meet the child's again.  
  
The young boy shuddered involuntarily and awaited the response. He nodded swiftly. "Yeah, I'se comin'."  
  
The boy bobbed his head quickly and turned tail, taking off for Manhattan. Jackrabbit was the child's name, if he recalled correctly. The information was useless to him now, Spot realized, and he dismissed the thought.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Spot grabbed his hat off of his bedpost and adjusted his suspenders one last time. He caught sight of his reflection in the cracked glass on his way out of the room and backed up again. His icy eyes were calm, his smirk cocky. Smiling in satisfaction, he left the Lodging House.  
  
He sighed loudly, digging his hands further into his pockets and slouching down in his seat. The trolley rumbled on, clanging its bell every now and then to warn passers by of its rapid approach. When his stop finally came, Spot hopped down the steps smoothly, immediately meeting up with some familiar faces. A chorus of "Heya Spot" echoed around the street and rang loudly in his ears. "Hiya fellas." He grinned and allowed himself to be led to the party. He could only hope it would lighten his mood.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
People were dancing, Medda was singing, and everyone was laughing: except for one. Jack appeared and thrust his greasy face into Spot's. He grinned widely, and Spot could smell the alcohol on his breath. He wrinkled his nose and tried to smile. "Whassamattah, Spot?" Jack asked sluggishly.  
  
Spot attempted a larger smile, hoping he could fool his friend. "Youse look like ya ain't havin' any..." His alcohol-influenced brain struggled to think of the word. "Fun." He draped one arm around Spot's narrow shoulders and gestured grandly with the other one.  
  
Spot followed his arm and once again took in the sights of his so-called birthday party. He grimaced. Jack saw people having fun, but all Spot saw were people getting drunk, making fools of themselves, and practically having sex in the aisles.  
  
Jack turned back to his friend. "C'mon, Spot! Grab a lady, grab a glass!" A heavily caked showgirl sauntered up to Jack and grabbed his arm, giggling. Jack waggled his eyebrows at his friend and took off, chugging another beer along the way.  
  
A timid, yet easily as decorated young showgirl stepped from the shadows and advanced towards Spot. "Can I...do something for ya, mister?" She asked awkwardly, her hands trembling.  
  
Spot rolled his eyes and turned away, shaking his head. "No, but thanks anyways."  
  
The girl crept closer and bent down near his ear. "Sure." She sat next to him and fidgeted for a few minutes before speaking again. "I'm new at this." She blurted, looking at his profile.  
  
He raised an eyebrow, trying to feign interest. "Oh, well, ya doin' a real nice job." He said as sincerely as he could.  
  
The girl smile, her teeth appearing yellow in contrast to her red lips. "Thanks..." She paused, pressed her lips together and held out a hand. "My name's Chloe."  
  
Spot shook her hand, his upper lip curling slightly, but his eyes showing interest. "Do youse /like/ livin' like dis?" He asked frankly, not even realizing he had been thinking it until it was too late.  
  
Chloe looked taken aback. Her hand flew to her hair selfconciously. She patted it nervously, then sighed and returned her hands to her lap. "No." She admitted quietly.  
  
"Den why?" Spot turned to her and finally made eye contact.  
  
She shrugged. "For da money..." She lifted her eyes to the girl sitting with Jack on the opposite side of the room. "Family tradition..." She muttered softly.  
  
Spot's eyes softened the tiniest bit. "Yeah...dat sucks." He said awkwardly, unsure of how to offer comfort to her.  
  
She smiled and turned back to him. "Enough about me, what about you?"  
  
Spot hesitated, when given the chance, he could talk about himself for hours on end, but he wasn't feeling up to it at the moment. "Dere's not much to say—" He began.  
  
"Are ya a newsboy?" She interrupted.  
  
Spot's temper flared, he wasn't used to being interrupted. /I'll letcha by dis time, goil, but next time...don't think I won't hitcha jus' 'cause youse is a goil./ He took a deep breath and nodded, exhaling heavily.  
  
"So, enjoyin' the party?"  
  
Spot smirked. "Yeah, can'tcha tell?" He scoffed, shifting to a more comfortable position in his seat.  
  
Chloe smiled again. "Whose party is it?" She asked, looking around for the host. "I had meant to ask earlier, but I forgot..."  
  
Spot scowled bitterly and crossed his arms. "Actually, it's mine."  
  
Chloe's head swiveled around, startled. "Yours?!" She asked, unbelieving.  
  
Spot nodded sharply. "Surprise." He muttered.  
  
"Oh...well, why ain'tcha out dere?" She asked, throwing a hand up in gesture.  
  
He glared at her for a second before answering. "You're serious, ain'tcha." It wasn't a question.  
  
She stared at him, doe-eyed and innocent. "If you wanna leave...just go." She suggested softly, her eyes boring into his.  
  
Spot blinked for a second, taking this in. He hadn't thought of that. He cleared his throat and decided to take her up on her advice. He stood and grabbed his hat again. He nodded to her pointedly, stepping past her and out nearer to the stairs. He paused before descending. He put his hat firmly on his head and turned. "Thanks." He gave her a small smile and left. 


	2. Chapter Two

Spot pulled a crate out from the dark alleyway and sat himself on top of it with a grunt. He whipped out his pack of cigarettes and scratched the head of a match against the side of the crate. Puffing contentedly, he gazed up at the dusky sky threw his hat on the sidewalk next to him. He closed his eyes as a breeze blew past, rustling his hair. A cough came from behind him, and he jerked his head down sharply, whirling on the intruder. He scowled into the darkness, searching for the person from which the cough had come.  
  
To his surprise, a girl stepped from the shadows, a smirk on her face, and a cigarette dangling from her lips. Her hands were shoved in her pockets, which were attached to a shabby coat. A ripped cap sat atop her head, cocked backward to show her face. She shook her head and removed the unlit cigarette from her mouth. Her dark hair shone in the moonlight. "Gotta light?" She asked casually, stepping closer.  
  
Spot rolled his eyes. "What's it to ya?"  
  
The girl shrugged. "Jus' wonderin'." She replied, nodding to his own lit cigarette.  
  
He turned away haughtily and gazed up again, blocking out all around him.  
  
"Sounds like a killah party, eh?"  
  
He furrowed his brow and concentrated harder on his thoughts.  
  
"I thought so too."  
  
He could feel her nodding. He gritted his teeth.  
  
She paused, then Spot heard muffled rustling, as if she were putting something in her pocket.  
  
"What's ya name?" She awaited his answer with an irritating amount of patience.  
  
Spot gave up and turned on her, eyes blazing.  
  
She smiled. "Dat's bettah. Eye contact is always good when in convahsation." She repeated mechanically.  
  
"Spot. Spot Conlon." He said crisply.  
  
Her eyes widened the tiniest bit. "Oh, da Brooklyn leadah, right?"  
  
He nodded. He was used to having everyone know who he was.  
  
"I heah you're a real prick."  
  
Spot nearly choked on his own cigarette smoke. He jumped from his perch and approached her, pleasantly surprised to find that she was shorter than he. "Oh really? Well, I heah t'ings too. /Bad/ t'ings. Bad stories 'bout goils who tawk too much and stay out past deir bedtimes." He turned from her and cast a glance over his shoulder. "I suggest you cheese it." He said menacingly as he could.  
  
The girl crossed her arms, then extended one hand. "Angel."  
  
Spot faltered in his leader status for a second. "Wh-what?" He sputtered, turning back around.  
  
"Dat's me name. Angel." The girl waved her hand around.  
  
"Your s'possed ta shake it." She advised when he didn't move.  
  
"I know." He snapped, spitting in his hand and grabbing her's.  
  
Angel smiled, satisfied. "Maybe I was wrong about youse."  
  
"Name fits ya." He interrupted her mid-sentence.  
  
She smiled broader. "I know." She echoed.  
  
Spot glowered at her, Angel's smile growing by the minute.  
  
"So, whadda ya doin' heah anyway?" She asked, dropping her smile.  
  
He blinked at her for a bit, surprised he had won so easily. "Heah? Like, out heah?"  
  
"In Manhattan period."  
  
"I might ast you da same t'ing."  
  
"I ast you foist." She fired back.  
  
Spot narrowed his eyes some more. "Fine. I'se heah for da party."  
  
Angel looked him over skeptically. "Den...why ain't—"  
  
"I got sick 'a it. It was s'possed ta be /my/ party an' I din't like da way it toined out."  
  
Angel nodded soberly. "Yeah, me too. I don't even know most 'a da people in dere, an' so..."  
  
"Who tole' ya ta come?"  
  
Angel looked up, startled. "Oh, umm, a few friends 'a mine."  
  
"Lemme guess, dey're in dere...while yer out heah."  
  
She nodded again, and picked at her fingernails.  
  
"Looks like we're in da same boat, you an' me." He said softly, looking at the ground.  
  
She shifted nervously on her feet. "Yeah...guess so."  
  
An awkward pause hung in the air.  
  
Spot stood, dropping the butt of his cigarette and crushing it somberly beneath the toe of his boot. "Look, ah, I'm gonna go now."  
  
"What, ya needs premission now?"  
  
He turned his head calmly. "Not from da likes 'a you I don't."  
  
Angel raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Really now."  
  
Spot echoed her smile, much in spite of himself. "Yeah, really."  
  
Faint strains of music drifted up and out of Irving Hall, and the stars twinkled softly overhead.  
  
"I'm gonna go." He looked straight at her, and into her eyes.  
  
"Me too."  
  
"See ya 'round?"  
  
She shrugged softly. "Pra'bly." There was a trace of hope in her answer.  
  
Neither moved.  
  
"'Bye."  
  
"'Bye."  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Spot made his lonely trek back to Brooklyn, arriving at the quiet lodging house deep in thought.  
  
He climbed to the roof and sat, feet dangling off the edge as he peered down into the inky blackness. That same inky blackness had looked so menacing the day before. He lifted his chin and leaned back on his hands. The breeze picked up then, and he shivered, smiling as he felt the hairs rising on his arms and the back of his neck.  
  
Cowboy would wonder where he had gotten to, Spot realized. After the hangover faded, anyway.  
  
Maybe he'd take a trip down to Manhattan in the morning...just to clear things up.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Someone who's made just for me - My fallen angel - The special love heaven sends me - My fallen angel - Somewhere to belong, someone to hold on - So I just keep on waiting on - My fallen angel - My fallen angel - My fallen angel - EYC 


End file.
